


While Drinkin'

by DragonxFox



Series: Can't Ignore [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonxFox/pseuds/DragonxFox





	While Drinkin'

Dean doesn’t know what’s been making Sam twitch all day, but he knows a few beers and a lay will do them both some good.

He turns the music up, leaning back in his chair as Sam turns to look out the window. If it weren’t for the way his lips kept turning down, Dean would let it slide. His brother wanted to play the waiting game, and Dean knew better than anyone - better than Dad even - how to make Sam come out of his shell.

When they’re a day’s drive away from their destination, he pulls into a motel and gets Sam to walk with him to the bar. Even if his too-skinny younger brother drags his feet, Dean is sure he’ll loosen up with enough beers and a few rounds of pool.

"Come on," he says, nudging Sam towards the pool table. "Just me and you." Sam raises a brow at him, and Dean rolls his eyes. "What, don’t wanna see how easily I can still whoop your ass, college boy?"

It’s weak and they’ve been edgy with each other since Dean pushed Sam towards the Sarah girl, but Sam finally smiles and nods. And even though it’s not the big trusting smile he used to get from Sam, Dean’s willing to take it for a little longer.

They’re on their third or fourth beer when Sam stops, leaning on his cue and stares right at him. “So, what. We’re just gonna play pool all night?”

"Sure," Dean says, raising his beer in a salute.

His brother opens his mouth and Dean feels like he’s finally hit the pot, but Sam just closes his mouth again and shakes his head.

For the most part, they’ve been playing nicely. Not showing too much skill, letting the other win every now and then. But, apparently, agreeing to playing all night doesn’t sit well with Sam. And soon enough, they’re drinking beer and playing each other as best they know how.

A few patrons stop to watch, curious about the two men who won’t leave the table. And while they can hear the whispers about their skills, neither care enough to stop.

It’s not the same game they usually play. It’s not a rough wrestling match between brothers or the heated words that leave them spent and more frustrated with themselves than each other. This is using the skills they grew up on, the skills taught to them by their father to earn some money, against each other.

And Dean knows the exact moment Sam thinks the same things. Because their eyes meet and he says, “Best two out of three,” making the already unbearable tension in the room increase.

The patrons start betting with each other, cursing and laughing when Sam wins the first round.

"Where are we even going, Dean?"

"We’ve got coordinates, Sam. Dad-"

"Will you just stop for a second?" he snaps, gripping the cue until his knuckles turn white. "It’s not like he’s going to give us coordinates to where he is. I don’t care about-“

"Then what do you care about? Because Dad is sending us to where people need us and I don’t think you understand that.”

"No, Dean. I do. But I just want to go after one thing. Not every other little thing he can think of to keep us off his trail."

"You couldn’t even find his trail if it weren’t for me, Sam. He taught us everything, but when you left, I was the one who got better at this. While you went off with your happy white-picket fence life, I learned how to find him."

Sam’s breathing just as roughly as he is, both too angry to say more as Dean lines up his cue and drops the next three balls in. By the time he wins, Sam’s shaking his head.

"We don’t have to live this life."

Shoulders tensing even more, Dean rearranges the table for the last match.

"Dean, please. All we need is to find the one. The one that got away with Mom, with Jess. Then, Dean, then we can just breathe." When Dean still remains silent, Sam goes to stand in front of him. "Heck, you can drive us as long and far as you want. Find a place where we can live, Dean-"

"And what, Sam?" Dean replies, shoving at his brother. "Live an apple-pie life like every other Joe? Pretend that we don’t know the things we do?"

"We could." Sam says, firm, staring back at Dean with as much determination as he can. "Fight off anything that came within range. But we can’t save everyone, Dean."

Dean pushes him again, turning back to the table and lining up for the first hit. He’s so frustrated that he doesn’t make any in and turns back to Sam, green eyes shining with the effort of not clocking his little brother on the spot. And Sam, the bastard, just looks at him with so much sadness and yearning that he stalks over to the bar just to get away from those stupid puppy eyes.

Instead of another beer, he gets himself a shot of whiskey, tossing it back and ordering another before he can second-guess himself. Because this, this as close to any chick-flick moments he’s been trying to avoid. Because his little brother, his Sammy, has always managed to wrap Dean around his finger with that look.

And right now, Dean can’t handle it. He throws back the second glass, grimacing at the taste and nearly jumps out of his skin when Sam’s hand lands on his shoulder.

When he turns to look at him, his anger and frustration clash against each other inside him. His mouth opens and he’s not sure what he’s going to say, but he has to stop this. He has to, because it’s been too long since he’s had his brother by his side and they have things to do. Because this was a stupid idea and the pool table’s still waiting for them and if he doesn’t move, if he keeps looking at Sam, then everything’s going to fall apart.

He’ll agree and give it all up. Hunt his Dad down - his own Dad, for christsakes - just to keep that look from ever finding its way back onto his brother’s face.

"Let’s go," Sam says, dropping a few bills on the bar behind Dean and pulling him up. Dean stumbles, not expecting it, and Sam pulls him closer until he can wrap his arm around Dean’s shoulder.

“‘m not a girl,” Dean mutters, trying to pull away.

But Sam’s grip tightens, keeping him there. “I know, Dean,” he says, getting them out of the bar and not letting go.

"Bitch," Dean grumbles.

"Jerk," Sam replies, automatic as always. And Dean can hear the smirk in Sam’s voice even if he can’t see it. He tries pulling away again, but Sam just pulls him in closer, using his other hand to get the motel key out of his jacket before pushing Dean in.

The push and pull throws Dean and he turns to face Sam, angry all over again, except Sam’s not by the door. Sam’s right in front of him, crowding him, and he takes a step back, glaring at him even as Sam takes another step closer, keeping the space between them almost non-existent.

"Dean," Sam says, and there’s anger in his voice. So much that Dean’s not sure how he didn’t notice it before.

"Sam, I-"

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Not with Sam’s hand suddenly in his hair, pulling his head back as Sam’s mouth covers his. And when he tries to pull away, his mind screaming at his delayed reactions, Sam’s other hand snakes around his waist, finding his lower back and pulling their bodies together.

The gasp that escapes him when he feels his little brother - Sam, Sammy - is all the invite Sam needs. His hands reach up between them, determined to push Sam away, but Sam pulls away from him and Dean’s suddenly leaning forward, close enough to hear Sam breathe, “Dean,” right before Sam’s mouth is on his again.

And his hands, the ones that were going to push him away, end up tangled in the mess of Sam’s hair. This game’s entirely different and Dean’s learning the rules as Sam crowds him against the motel wall, keeping Dean’s body flush with his.

"Dean," he says, mouth trailing kisses down Dean’s neck and Dean just can’t.

He’s trying to pull away, frantic in his need to breathe. To get in the Impala and not look back until the motel is nothing but a speck of dust in his rearview mirror.

"Please," Sam whispers, planting his hands - so big and warm - on either side of Dean’s head. His breathing is erratic as he drops his head on Dean’s shoulder.

"Sammy."

It’s all Dean can say, but Sam knows.

And when he kisses Dean this time, it’s bittersweet. Soft and chaste, making something in Dean’s chest ache as Sam leads Dean, slowly, back to the bed.

He fights off his own panic as Sam helps him undress, watching with eyes drooping from exhaustion, as Sam does the same.

Somehow, they both fit in the bed. Dressed in nothing but their t-shirts and boxers, Dean’s head tucked under Sam’s, until they fall asleep.


End file.
